


Kolivan's Got A Case Of The Mondays

by thatoldbroad



Series: Embarrassingly Late [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 21:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14410515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoldbroad/pseuds/thatoldbroad
Summary: Keith and Shiro demand The Talk. Kolivan just hates Mondays.





	Kolivan's Got A Case Of The Mondays

**Author's Note:**

> Liberties have been taken with canon for the sake of artistic license (aka, gotta land the punchline), including that everyone is still alive, or at least the characters I need for my story.

Kolivan clears his throat. "So," he starts. Then stops. He extends his hands beseechingly, retracts them, opens his mouth to try again. "So" - and fails. He's been starting and stopping and trying for the last fifteen doboshes and hasn't made it past the damn word.

Keith and Shiro stare at him. They're sitting on opposite sides of the conference table like a single line of stalwart warriors that have walled in Kolivan, who is at the helm. There is no escape. And, as if they intend to fell him in a singe swoop of irritating noise, they speak at once:

"What the fuck is up with the ass leaking - "

"I'm thinking the Galra didn't just amputate me for kicks - "

Kolivan raises both hands in the universal symbol of  _shut the fuck up_. 

"Shhhh," he hisses. "Just - " He rubs his temple, fingers against the throb of an impending headache. It's too early for this shit. Too early in the morning, too early in the week. He's still recovering from imbibing a little too much Nunvill two quintants ago - that Coran has the tolerance of his great-Galra-grandmother. Quintessence bless her: she could drink anyone under the table.

Kolivan knew this meeting would be trouble. In person by wormhole - the invitation required, when a conference call would have been perfectly sufficient and, in fact, preferred. And first slot on a Monday morning? A dark magic flogging from Haggar would have been less torture. He should've blocked the morning in purple: off universe, not checking messages, contact Thace if urgent.

He looks longingly at the single exit door in the small room that Keith and Shiro chose, surely to emphasize the claustrophobic effect of this conversation. He should have had a contingency plan. Maybe had Ulaz stage a fake attack, like he does when Kolivan goes off on a whim and decides _why not give DDS another try_ , and needs to eject from a bad date. DDS: Digital Dating for Singles. Utterly redundant, but the creators of the application aren't the sharpest weapons in the armory shed. Neither are the users, sad to say. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, thrice, _eighteen times and counting_ \- shame on you, Kolivan, for shame. His track record hasn't been so bleak with these two, but it's certainly not the first time he's been wrangled into their subtext and UST. Thank Quintessence they're finally fucking?

"Let's revisit the rules, shall we?" Kolivan points to the smartscreen behind him. "Together now." And they recite:

1) One person speaks at a time.

2) No interrupting.

3) This is a safe place.

4) Kolivan is your friend. Stop the all-Galra hate.

"Now, Keith." Kolivan starts with him, because he suspects that if he doesn't, items in the room will start bursting into flames and flying at dizzying, dangerous speeds, including the HVAC system bolted to the wall, from the combined power of Keith's impatience and unadulterated rage. Kolivan has never known an Omega to acquire psychic abilities at a coming of age, but Keith is half Earthling - who knows what their kind is capable of. "What you're experiencing is perfectly natural."

"Leaking ass juice is perfectly natural?" Keith missiles his sarcasm with admirable precision. Kolivan feels instantly eight feet shorter.

"Y-y-yes." He did not stutter. He will never admit it. He is also not swallowing down a sudden pang of fear. Push through, Kolivan. You can do it. "Galra have a hormone that make certain physical attributes latent until they reach a certain age."

"So I was right - this is puberty."

"Yes, it seems comparable to the Earthling experience. You are what the Galra call an Omega."

"What the fuck is that?" Keith demands, ever poetic.

"It means that you're - a breeder." Kolivan coughs to cover the word. To be fair, his throat did suddenly tighten.

"A what?"

"A breeder. You're a breeder."

Keith stares. It's eerie how long he can go without blinking. "I'm a breeder," he says slowly, emphasis on breeder, as if Kolivan had just slung a vile term. But it isn't. Omegas are cherished in Galra society, elevated on a pedestal. Art and songs and soap opera dramas commonly depict Omegas as kings and queens, material forms of Quintessence or bearers of it. And, in retrospect, Kolivan probably should've led with that.

"Let me explain - "

"Is that all I am to you?" Keith shouts, red as his favorite lion. "A breeder?"

Faintly, Kolivan wonders if he's entering another heat.

"Baby," Shiro says suddenly. It cuts through the tension like a knife slicing through butter. Keith turns toward him. His face becomes like the proverbial butter - melted and gooey. "Words do not define you." Except the word "baby" apparently, because Keith utterly preens at it. His eyelashes are exceptionally long. Kolivan would never have noticed if not for Keith's exaggerated batting of his eyes.

That handled - meaning Keith - Shiro turns his attention to Kolivan. With the forced calm that Shiro is so very good at, he folds his hands on the table and asks primly: "So what does that mean for me?"

"Well - " Kolivan points at his Galra arm. "Your suspicions, too, were correct. You were not just intended to be a warrior."

He falls silent after that, allows Shiro to digest what he's said, to reach his own conclusion as Kolivan believes he will. Shiro doesn't disappoint. In short order, horror spreads across his face.

"A breed _or_. Is that what I am?" Technically, the term is Alpha. But - tomayto, tomahto. "Is that even a word? Breedor. That just sounds stupid."

Shiro tears his hands through his hair. His cool facade is completely unraveling. It's fascinating to witness and Kolivan would be stunned at the transformation if he didn't already know how carefully Shiro constructs himself to appear composed. Hell, it's Jenga: pull the right block and it all comes crashing down. A novel Earthling game. He owes Coran another match.

Thankfully for Shiro - and unfortunately for Kolivan - Keith comes to his rescue.

"Daddy," he says in a sugar-sweet saccharine tone. Ick, ick, ick, Kolivan thinks: he's never going to unhear it. But it has the intended impact - as if Keith has just thrown a treat to a puppy. Shiro grows hearts in his eyes. Literally. Kolivan swears he saw his pupils shaping them.

They spend long minutes staring at each other, engaged in a wordless conversation. An eyebrow is raised. Eyes narrow. Then go big, huge. A smile plays on Keith's lips. A grin spreads across Shiro's face.

"Krolia," Keith announces. "If we have a girl."

"That's a unique name," Shiro observes. He's obviously pleased with it.

"It just came to me," Keith explains. He points at his chest. "I felt it here. And it feels right, like my connection to Red. And you, of course."

The temperature in the room spikes noticeably. Keith _is_ going into heat. It's starting to smell faintly like - raspberry lotion? Kolivan's not sure, but it hints of the ointment his great-Galra-grandmother used for rubbing under her feet after a long quintant of planet hopping.

And Kolivan has just had about all that he can take from this meeting. There is one last thing: the Pregnant Omega Initiave - or, as its critics like to call it, "The Keep 'Em Barefoot And Pregnant Project." In short, it prohibits Omegas from participating in missions after conception. It's currently under review by the Blade Commission and unlikely to be renewed for another term now that the Commission is 60-40 Omega majority. But, until then, it will remain in effect for at least another three deca-phoebs. By the looks of these two idiots in love, multi-Galra-Earthling children might be in their near future, and Keith will want to know about the - restrictions.

"By the way," Kolivan says nonchalantly, like: no biggie what I'm about to tell you. "You may want to consider having children later, after - "

"What are you saying?" Keith interrupts, arms folding tightly over his chest. "I can't have a career _and_ raise children? Is that where you're going with this?" He is always so much more perceptive than he lets on.

"Uhh ... " Kolivan jumps to his feet. He swirls his arms in the air in what he's hoping is a convincing pantomime of an alarm blaring loudly and urgently. (Though sadly, truthfully, it's closer to the awkward dance Kolivan reduces to after too much Nunvill at a wedding - yes, he's that crazy uncle.) "Do you hear that? Well, I do. The universe must be under attack. Again. To the lions! Voltron, Voltron, go!"

And with that, Kolivan makes his exit. He hates Mondays.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for spamming the Voltron feed, but these dudes are chatty! Hope you continue to enjoy the fun (and funny)!


End file.
